


like sea salt and soil and cut grass

by discopolice



Category: Wakfu
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discopolice/pseuds/discopolice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an Amalia-centric femslash shortfic collection, to be added to throughout the month. probably mostly Amalia/Cleophee, tbh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like sea salt and soil and cut grass

Her hair smells like adventure, like sea salt and soil and cut grass.

It always does when she visits the outskirts of the Sadida kingdom, and when she calls for its princess from afar like a careful suitor. (Cleophee is not a careful young woman, really, but Amalia supposes even the least Cra of the family is still a Cra.) No matter how heavy the kingdom is on her shoulders, Amalia always finds a way to sneak off: a few hours here, a night there, hand in hand through zaaps and atop dragoturkeys and just below the clouds. One time, she made up some 'professional business' so she and Cleo could go sailing; that was the night they had their first kiss, she remembers. (How could she forget? Cleophee had imprinted the sea upon her, made her heart crash against the wall of her chest like a wave. Oh, Sadida, that kiss.)

Amalia misses adventure, wind through her hair, new sights and feelings. Cleophee is adventure; she is a storm at sea, she is an arrow of bright wakfu singing through the forest air. It came as a bit of a surprise when that heavy knot of distaste in Amalia’s stomach grew to something different, but that’s how adventure is.

It’s all about surprises, even when the surprises come from inside one’s soul. The Brotherhood taught her that, and now it’s come in handy. Funny, that.

\--

Evangelyne picks up on it pretty quickly, the first time she sees her sister with flowers woven into her braid. That’s a thing Amalia used to do to _her_ , when they were kids. "I know what you're doing, and if you hurt her, I will actually kill you," she says; her fingers stroke over her bow. (With the length of time they've been apart, Eva is a bodyguard first and a sister second. Cleophee knows this. She resents it a little, but she knows it.) Cleophee salutes and promises to always make the princess smile, as long as she can.

Cleophee may be flighty, but she keeps promises. Besides, the first time she hears Amalia  _laugh_ with her - full-bellied and bright - how can Evangelyne deny the nostalgia that wells up in her? And so it goes, four years like a fairy-tale, Cleophee standing under the proverbial balcony with open arms to cart her proverbial Juliet to the literal sky. Maybe it won't last forever, but in the 'now' they are all feelings, all senses, all motion.

When Cleophee catches the bouquet at Evangelyne’s wedding, nobody expects it, but everyone is excited. _Her? Settle down?_   Questioning the bouquet probably counts as a cardinal wedding sin, though, so it turns into speculation. _Who’s the lucky man going to be? How’s he going to deal with her? A girl like her gets bored pretty easily._

Tristepin raises his eyebrows when Eva gives Amalia a knowing look and wink.


End file.
